


Drinking On The Job: Moments From The Magnusquerade

by Nevanna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Mind Control, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 11,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: Scenes from a shared AU in which the familiar faces of the avatars have much sharper teeth, and the Magnus Institute is run and staffed by vampires, their thralls, and unsuspecting human victims.Latest installment: Oliver realizes that he has something in common with his visitor.





	1. Transparency in Working Relationships (Jon and Melanie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: middle of Season 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with this shared AU: the short version is that Elias is a vicious vampire overlord, Jon is his somewhat reluctant heir, and the rest of the Archives staff serve as food sources/thralls in various states of Okay With That.

“If you’d like,” Jon said, stroking the pulse point in Melanie’s wrist and feeling it leap beneath his fingers, “I can… send your mind somewhere else, while I feed.” Elias had described, with unfiltered delight, the expressions on his victims’ faces if and when he allowed them to wake up and remember where they actually were. “So that you don’t have to think about it.”

She responded with what he’d quickly learned to recognize as her _“are you fucking kidding me?”_ expression. “You've done that with the others?” she asked aloud.

“I made the same offer, yes.” Martin had, unsurprisingly, been thrilled by the touch of Jon’s mind and an escape that was theirs alone, but Tim had only smirked and asked if Jon _really_ wanted access to his fantasies.

“I don’t want to forget what’s happening to me,” Melanie said. _I don’t want this to be easy for either of us,_ Jon heard, and couldn’t deny that he understood.


	2. Models of Managerial Authority (Elias and Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Mid to late Season 3

“You’ve done such a splendid job with Martin,” Elias remarked. He had taken similar measures when feeding on his staff, whether they were enthralled to him or not: psychically flooding them with praise and appreciation and reassurance as his fangs pierced their necks.

“He shares his blood willingly.” Jon kept writing, trying to keep his tone expressionless, but he would never be able to close his thoughts completely. “The least I can do is to make it pleasant for him.”

“What a fine reward system you’ve implemented.” Elias could see his heir mentally formulate a response, trying to convince them both that he’d implemented nothing of the sort, and kept talking before Jon could give voice to any of those arguments. “I assume that the others have yet to earn it? Or do you prefer it when they struggle? That can certainly be appealing. On the other hand...” Jon’s fists clenched as the images sank into his consciousness: Melanie limp and serene in Elias’ arms; Tim desperately lapping blood from his master’s wrist. “So can the alternative.”

“I prefer not to rearrange Tim’s or Melanie’s minds any more than I have to,” Jon said, looking Elias directly in the eye. “To us, this isn’t a game.”

“But it is,” Elias contradicted him. “And I promise that you won’t last long unless you learn to play.”


	3. Patron Dissatisfaction (Elias, Jon, and Naomi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestap: first half of Season 1

Elias watched through Jon’s eyes as their visitor gave her statement. He had assumed, incorrectly, that one of the Lukases had turned or killed Naomi Herne once she got too close. Perhaps her self-deluding fiancé would have given her that choice, eventually, if his own choice hadn’t been made for him.

Evan may well have believed that he was the first vampire to defy his clan’s wishes and his own nature, to live among mortals and obtain his food supply from hospitals, to mate with an introvert who thought that a bit of flirtation with the unknown made her special. Young people – not to mention young monsters – often thought that they’d _invented_ whatever fancies took shape in their heads.

If Ms. Herne had come to the Institute in search of answers, or closure, she found neither of those things in the Archivist’s dismissive skepticism. She told him off in her best “can I speak to your manager?” voice, and left his office in a huff.

Perhaps she would submit her complaint in person, and she’d given them her details regardless. Would she prefer enthrallment to the Lonely clan, or a normal human existence with no memory of her vanished beloved? Elias was already planning to spin that question into a wager, the next time he and Peter went _drinking_ together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NevillesGran and I had discussed the possibility of Evan surviving in this AU, so I deliberately used the word "vanished" to allow for the possibility of a reunion with Naomi down the line.


	4. Historical Inaccuracies (Ronald and Agnes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before Season 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the vampiric version of the Hill Top Road halfway house (described in MAG 59, "Recluse"). With that in mind, this section requires a **content warning** for supernaturally flavored child abuse.

Ronald Sinclair awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth. It lingered even after the other scraps of his dream had faded (long fingers stroking his hair, his guardian’s familiar voice praising and encouraging him), and he figured he must have bitten his tongue while he slept.

He could find his way to the corridor without turning on the light, without seeing the neighboring bed where his best friend used to sleep. After rinsing out his mouth in the washroom that he shared with the other boys, he was feeling his way back to his room when a girl’s voice asked, “Are you trying to run?”

Once his heart slowed down to a normal rate, Ronald could answer, “No, why would I?” He’d be out of there soon, when he turned eighteen.

“You wanted to,” Agnes insisted. Her hair was still in the same pigtails that she wore in the daytime, and her tiny frame - she was so much younger than any of her house-siblings - was draped in a too-big nightdress. 

“It was a mistake.” She’d only arrived at the halfway house a few weeks ago; how did she know about the train that Ronald had tried to sneak onto last year? Did she know how ill he’d started to feel, how _thirsty_, the further they traveled from Hill Top Road? In the dim light of the corridor, did the urgency to run _right now_ show on his face? “I belong here,” he told her. “We’re all safe here. Ray is giving us a chance to grow into our best selves.” He believed those words, every one of them, so why did it feel like he was listening to someone else say them?

“Is that what he tells you when he feeds?”

Ronald’s neck started to throb at those words, even if they didn’t make sense. Ray didn’t say much at mealtimes, after he’d led them all in the nightly grace. Their routine was comfortable. Everything was fine. 

“You think you get to choose,” Agnes was saying. “I know I _can’t_. Which one of us is luckier?”

The memory of that conversation didn’t come back to Ronald until a month later, when he’d barely managed to flee. In the months that followed, every time he vomited and trembled from the cravings for something that he couldn’t even understand (the blessing of fangs in his neck or wrist, the bright sweetness flowing through every vein, the peaceful sensation of belonging), he knew somehow that he was very lucky indeed.

Years - and then decades - passed before he heard of an organization that investigated supernatural phenomena. He’d almost convinced himself that, while the memories of his childhood were troubling, the wrongness was completely mundane. But the more he suspected that he couldn’t trust his own memories, the more certain he was that he had to tell his story to the Magnus Institute.


	5. Employment Credentials (Gerry and Gertrude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before Season 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that the creators of this AU may well have plans for both these characters, but, given the go-ahead, I decide to dip my toes in.

“I’m not dismissing any of the information you’ve given me,” Gertrude Robinson was saying. “I simply don’t understand why, after everything you’ve heard about the Magnus Institute, you wish to _join_ us.”

“I could be a resource to you.” Gerry had been ready for this. “I’ve been studying magic since before I finished my growth spurt. I’ve met vampires from more than half the clans, and walked away with my head on straight and most of my own blood.” Ms. Robinson’s eyes sharpened in her lined face, and he wondered whether she could See into him - into the bookshops and goth clubs and offices and alleys where he’d encountered the monsters - or just wanted him to _think_ she could. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to protect the world from them?”

“I don’t think so.” If he didn’t know better, he’d imagine that there was something like gentleness in her next words: “You’re haunted, aren’t you? Dear old Mum still won’t leave you alone, even well after her death, and you think that the way to your freedom is through us.”

“It won’t be freedom,” Gerry corrected her. “But it’ll do. You know what I want, and you know what I can give you. If you’re going to send me away...”

“I would be a fool to send you away,” Ms. Robinson said. “And I am many things, but a fool has never been one of them. Have a seat, Mr. Keay, and tell me more.”


	6. Navigating Staff Disputes (Tim and Elias)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Season 2

Elias closed the file on his desk. “What brings you here today, Tim?”

“It’s about Jon,” Tim said bluntly. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s looking for, or whether you gave him the go-ahead, but he’s crossed a line - a whole lot of them, actually.” 

“I assume that you’re referring to his attempts to record conversations among the Archival staff without your knowledge,” Elias replied. It wasn’t a question. “Or, perhaps, to his after-hours surveillance of your house?”

“Yeah, both of…” Tim stopped abruptly. He hadn’t told anyone that he’d seen Jon following him home - not yet - so _how_ had Elias known? “Are you going to do something about it?”

“You’re not the first to have called attention to his behavior,” Elias assured him. “I will remind him of what is acceptable and what is not.” His eyes were fixed on Tim’s face. “Now, why are you _really_ here?”

Tim frowned. “I don’t understand.” Or did he?

“Isn’t there something else that you need?” A drawer opened and closed, and Elias withdrew a slim silver knife, which he turned back and forth in his hands as he rose from his desk. At the sight of it, Tim wasn’t sure whether he wanted to flinch or yell or whine with need, and then Elias was drawing closer, smiling widely and showing off impossibly sharp teeth.  


Those _definitely_ stirred something in Tim’s memory: the creatures that had converged on the old Theatre Royal the night his brother disappeared (he tried not to think about their songs, but he could still hear every note), and fainter echoes of meetings just like this one. He knew exactly how those teeth - those _fangs_ \- would feel, and knew that he had to back away while he still felt more horrified than tempted, while he could still curse every vampire in London, including the one right in front of him.

The blade flashed, a line of blood welled on Elias’ wrist, and Tim felt his tongue tingle and his legs wobble as his fear and grief and anger receded. “Is there any need for you to stay on your feet?” Elias asked calmly.

There wasn’t. Tim sank to his knees and shuddered as he touched his tongue to the small cut and let the rich sweetness flow into him. He felt like he could run from the Institute to his home and back, and also like he could stay here forever, his thoughts soft and hazy. Why would he leave unless his master told him to?

“Doesn’t this feel lovely?” Elias crooned. “You never stop wanting it, even if you don’t remember why. You’ll let me worry about Jon, won’t you?” His cool fingers moved through Tim’s hair. “Just focus on fulfilling your own duties, doing what you’re meant for… and perhaps I shall allow you to feel like this again.”


	7. Field Experience (Mike and Simon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: before Season 1

The cold air and needles of rain didn’t bother Mike as he rose toward the clouds – would never bother him again, now that he belonged to them, and they to him.

It was only when he tried to fly toward the nearest flash of lightning that he faltered, tumbled to the ground, and landed in a heap at his sire’s feet.

“Let’s take it slow, there!” Simon hoisted Mike up with a cackle. “You’ve got the rest of eternity to dance with that lightning. Now, why don’t we find a bit of food to energize us for the next lesson?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more fun times with Vampire Simon Fairchild, check out the first chapter of NevillesGran's [Networking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229340/chapters/50543855)!


	8. Breach of Privacy (Elias, Basira, and Daisy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: early Season 3

Elias had an afternoon of budgetary spreadsheets ahead of him, but he couldn’t resist sliding behind his new thrall’s eyes one more time.

-

“I’m going to be hard to reach for a few days,” Daisy announced. “Finally got a lead on the Magnus Institute case, and… “ Her head came up like… well, as if she’d caught a scent. “Is someone else here?”

“It’s been just me all evening,” Basira said truthfully, even though she couldn’t help feeling like someone else had just stepped out of the room. The two of them weren’t the first or only Section 31 officers to develop an odd relationship with surveillance, real or imagined. Would it ever go away, now that she’d left the police? “You worry me when you start acting like this. Like the only thing that matters is…”

“The target,” Daisy finished. A familiar light flared in her eyes. “Right now, Sims is the one that should be worried.”

“You think he’s a…” The word that Basira wanted hovered on her tongue. “A monster like Rayner and the others, don’t you?” _And maybe a little like you,_ she didn’t add. “What if…”

“I always take care of everything, don’t I? And I couldn’t do it without you.” Basira wasn’t quite reassured, but before she could say so, Daisy grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick, hard kiss. “Wish me luck.”

After the door slammed behind her, Basira was convinced that bruises had come up on her shoulders (would Daisy ever hurt her deliberately?), but she hesitated before pulling aside her sleeve and the edge of her hijab to check, even if she was (wasn’t she?) alone.

-

Elias withdrew from Basira’s mind and smiled. Most vampires of the Hunt didn’t play well with other clans, but then again, most of them didn’t care about humans the way that Detective Tonner cared about hers. He’d already given her everything that she needed to chase Jon, to test him, and to bring him home. And Basira would be her reason not to stray again.

It would be marvelous to see their faces, and their minds, when the trap closed.

For now, however, Elias had a more immediate goal: to finish his spreadsheets before his next one-on-one meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like if any character is well-suited to a Villainous Internal Monologue, it's Elias, either in canon or in this AU. I hope I'm not wrong.


	9. The Awkward Necessity of Staff Meetings (Jon, Martin, Melanie, and Tim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: mid-to-late Season 3

“Elias tampered with all of your memories,” Jon reminded his assistants (his to protect, to shape, to _know_). “Extensively, in some cases; less so in others.” He nodded at Melanie, who had folded her arms and silently dared him to comment on her tipped-back chair. She hadn’t been bound to Elias for nearly as long as the others, but unlike them, she hadn’t forgotten what it was like. “I can probably restore those memories, if you choose. I’ve managed something… similar, in the past.” 

Jon wasn’t trying to _look_ at Martin even in the most mundane sense, but their eyes met anyway, summoning a shared memory from the disastrous early days of their bond. “I trust you,” Martin said softly. “Enough to try.”

Melanie didn’t bother to hide her snort, while Tim deadpanned, “This is my surprised face.”

The blood rose in Martin’s cheeks. “I’ve been working here the longest, haven’t I? There’s probably a lot to untangle in here” - he tapped his head - “and if Jon can do it, wouldn’t that help us all understand his powers a little better?”

“Great. You two have fun with that.” Melanie jumped to her feet. “What about Basira?”

_Not mine,_ something inside Jon whispered. He tried to ignore it. “We’d have to take a different approach, but if I can help her, I will.”

As Melanie started toward the exit, Martin asked, “Don’t you want to know more?”

“I’m not sure how much more mindfucking I can take.” She glanced back at Jon over her shoulder. “That all for now, boss?”

“It is,” Jon answered. “You’re welcome to take some time to think about what I’ve said.”

When the door closed behind her, he could still hear her heart beating rapidly on the other side, and then slowing, as if she’d needed to stop and calm herself down. He barely stopped himself from sending her on her way with a nudge of “you are cared for and safe with us,” but he hoped that she knew it, all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jon does his best as the Soft Monster In Charge" is a non-small part of the reason why I am writing in this AU.
> 
> I have a longer WIP in which - among other things - Melanie talks with Georgie about his offer; I posted that excerpt on my Tumblr [here](https://forest-of-stories.tumblr.com/post/189232378763/ive-been-working-on-another-georgiemelanie-fic).


	10. Potential Common Interests (Oliver and his ghosts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before or early in the series timeline

Sometimes, on his way home, Oliver preferred to lose himself in the relative quiet of the city before dawn. On other mornings, when his own thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, he plugged in his earbuds and sought the company of one of his favorite podcasts. 

_“So, Melanie, what’s your favorite theory about life after death?”_

_“You mean, the one I personally believe, or the most interesting one I’ve heard?”_

_“Let’s start with the second one.”_

As he listened to the guest’s answer, Oliver nearly collided with a dog walker and her overexcited pug. He mumbled something apologetic and avoided eye contact, as he usually did, not wanting to get a good look at a face that might later show up in his dreams.

He had never met Georgie Barker, but he’d listened to every available episode of _What the Ghost?_ and some of the things that she said about death made him wonder if she’d had any contact with the End. If he cared just a little bit less about what the other vampires in his clan might think, he’d write in and ask.

Could she, or his supposed “family,” have told him what to do with his visions? As far as he knew, he was the only creature of the End to ever have them. Could they have told him whether he’d done the right thing after he _saw_ his lover’s death and replacement by one of the Strangers? (Maybe he just didn’t want to ask, and find out that there was a better way to save Graham, one that he hadn’t been able or willing to take.)

Every time he walked past the Magnus Institute, he considered whether the Eye clan, with their capacity to see far too much, would understand. Every time, he wondered if seeking their help would be worth whatever cost Elias Bouchard decided to set, for Oliver himself or for anyone else.

How much longer, how far into the infinite future, before he stopped caring about _anyone else’s_ fate?

He hunched his shoulders, turned up the volume on his phone, and kept moving.

_“…think I understand what you’re saying. Some ghosts want to cling to the world of the living, but it sounds like this one was just looking for peace.”_

_“Yeah, Georgie. Exactly.”_


	11. Resource Sharing (Sasha and Melanie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Season 1

“Actually, I’m convinced that the Obsidian Mirror was more than just haunted,” Sasha said as she walked their visitor back to the lobby. Melanie King had been fuming on her way out of the Archives, but when their conversation turned to the number of pubs and inns that came up in both her show and the Institute’s research, it seemed to take the edge off her anger. “That one was supposed to be a meeting place for all sorts of supernatural everything. Witches, vampires, and, yeah, maybe a few ghosts.”

“So they served – what – glasses of blood?” Melanie asked, sounding far more skeptical than most people who brought their stories here.

“That’s one rumor,” Sasha agreed. 

Melanie’s face settled back into a scowl. “_Whose_?”

The thought that _anyone would be happy to give it, it would be their purpose and their pleasure_, flashed through Sasha’s mind and was gone before she could make sense of it. “I think we have a statement or two from humans who tried to get in. I can’t show you those, obviously, but I can share articles and blog posts and the like, if you’re…”

“Sasha?” Rosie called from her desk. “Elias wants to talk to you.”

“That’s my exit cue,” Melanie announced. “Hope you’re not in too much trouble.” She sounded like she actually meant it.

“He didn’t sound angry,” Rosie assured them quickly.

“I think I know what it’s about,” Sasha admitted. If he’d listened to her statement about her encounter with an odd character who seemed to know a little too much about the Institute, it made sense that Elias would need something more from her. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime soon, Melanie.”

“Yeah.” Melanie offered a little wave. “See you.”


	12. Night Shift (Eric and Adelard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before the series timeline

A finger of chilly night air slipped into Eric’s collar, and he adjusted his scarf with the hand that wasn’t clamped around the stake in his pocket.

“Remember,” Adelard instructed as Eric tried to keep pace beside him, “we’re only to strike in self-defense. Gertrude wants us to escort him to her in one piece. And don’t let him…”

“…Touch our skin. I know.” One of the first statements that Eric had seen had come from a woman whose sister was paralyzed by the touch of a Buried vampire. Her words had run through his head as he wrapped up as best he could for this evening’s assignment, after taking one last look at his sleeping son. Gerry's mother hadn’t asked where her husband was going. Eric wasn’t sure that she needed to.

“Here.” Adelard stopped walking and pointed to a lichen-spotted headstone bearing the name _Hezekiah Wakely_, and a pair of dates, from over a century ago. “We’re early.”

“So, what now?”

“We shall wait for Mr. Wakely to join us,” Adelard replied, “and trust in God to keep us and our loved ones safe.”

Eric nodded. He could still tell himself – most of the time – that he was risking his life to protect Gerry from the monsters.

Even if some of those monsters were closer to home than Eric knew how to explain.


	13. Consideration for Promotion (Jon and Basira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Season 3 or 4

Basira paused on her way out of the Archives, and turned back to meet Jon’s gaze. “If you want to know something, just ask,” she said irritably. “I don’t want you in my head.”

“Even if I could, I wasn’t trying to…” Jon protested. Unsure of whether those words were actually true, he chose his next ones carefully. “I was wondering… if Daisy offered to turn you, so that you could leave here together… would you say yes?”

Basira frowned. “Did she say she was-"

Jon shook his head. “I’m not exactly high on her list of confidants.” He could guess that said list consisted of exactly one person, who was currently standing right in front of him. “It’s an entirely hypothetical question.” At this stage, that was _certainly_ true.

“She hasn’t offered, and I haven’t asked. If she did…” Basira sighed. “You, of all people, know what the Hunt’s bloodlust can do to her. I saw it too, even before I knew where it came from.”

“But you did nothing to stop her.”

“As _he_ likes to remind me,” Basira said sharply. “He thinks it’s _funny_, that I’m looking for a way out. But I guess it’s a good sign, that I still want one, and I suppose there are worst options than becoming a vampire myself.” She waited for him to remark upon that, but he didn’t. “I still won’t like it. Unless maybe,” she added, “I start to, over time. And we’d have a _lot_ of that.” 

“I… know the feeling,” Jon admitted.

“But even if I could give you a clear answer,” Basira continued, “I’d only be speaking for myself. _Not_ for Martin.”

Jon couldn’t even manage to be surprised that she’d guessed. He held onto the politeness that this situation required. “No, I don’t suppose that you could. Thank you for talking to me, all the same. If you ever need anything…” _If Elias crosses too many lines. If he decides to exploit your closeness with Daisy more than he already has._ “You know where to find me.”

“Do you spend time anywhere else?” Basira retorted. “You have your own…” Jon didn’t need to look into her mind to know which words occurred to her, unbidden: _Thralls pets life sources yours yours yours._ “Your own _people_ to look after,” she finished. “Daisy and I can take care of each other.”


	14. After Hours (Sebastian and Jared)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before the series timeline

Sebastian had fled into the stacks when he first heard the noises: ordinary footsteps, at first, that had grown heavier as they advanced, and – unless he was mistaken – seemed to be coming from more than one pair of feet. He was _sure_ that it was more than just his own panic that distorted his pursuer’s voice.

“Why are you hiding, Sebastian? I want to give you a _gift_.” The voice grew deeper and wetter and more garbled with every word. “Since we used to be such good mates, and all.”

The sounds were close enough to jolt Sebastian into motion. He’d spent enough time in the Chiswick Library, as a child and later as part of the staff, that he could find his way around, although this was the first time he had to navigate it in the dark. 

“You can be more than just a weak, useless bag of _meat_. You can be anything you want.”

He ended up in the book repair room, testing the size and weight of each volume, running his fingers over broken furniture and what he could have sworn was a typewriter… as if he thought he could use any of it as a _weapon_.

He knew what constituted “weakness” according to Jared: backing away from fights instead of throwing punches, seeking shelter in words instead of looking for trouble. Even now, Sebastian couldn’t resist thinking back to every book about vampires and other monsters that could change their shape, hoping that he’d miraculously recall how the characters could destroy them, wondering if he’d even be able to strike if he had the chance…

“I’m gonna find you either way.” The voice was far too close.

Knowing how true that probably was, Sebastian reached for one of the broken chairs, pulled and pulled at one of the remaining wooden legs until it snapped. The noise had probably alerted the monster, but whether his “gift” was transformation or a messy death, Sebastian refused to simply sit there this time and wait for Jared Hopworth to have his way.

He clutched the chair leg tightly in one hand and reached for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creators of this AU indicated that Flesh vampires have shapeshifting powers; in keeping with what Jared does to himself and others in canon, I took that to fantastical extremes.


	15. Working Under False Pretenses (Elias and Not-Sasha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: beginning of Season 2

“Do come in, Sasha.” Elias beckoned his visitor into his office. “Close the door, won’t you?”

She did. “You wanted to speak to me about something?”

“I wanted to find out about your clan’s designs on my Institute, and what you hoped to gain by impersonating one of my employees.” He stood. “I will give you a chance to answer of your own free will, before I extract that information more… directly.”

The Stranger’s eyes flashed red. “You’ve known from the beginning, then,” she stated.

“But of course.” The racing of Sasha’s blood had always betrayed her fear, every time she realized the purpose of their one-on-one meetings, but her voice and the set of her jaw had been steady, and for all that Elias had been careful to edit her memories after he fed on her, it did mean that he had to see the angry determination on her face over and over. He couldn’t say that he would miss that, or her, but another vampire had infiltrated _his_ territory and done away with one of _his_ thralls, which was unacceptable. 

The Stranger’s barely contained fury made Sasha’s defiant glare seem downright placid by comparison. “And I suppose you’ll kill me after you get what you want?”

“Your decision to come here was not wise,” Elias informed her, “but I would almost be tempted to call it brave.” He offered his most patronizing smile. “I don’t think I’ll kill you today. I would, however, advise against feeding upon any more of my staff. Do I need to _show_ you what will happen if you do?”

“As if I haven't heard what you’re capable of, _Jonah_,” the Stranger sneered.

“It’s always so gratifying to be known and respected in one’s field,” Elias mused. “Now, you still haven’t answered my question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the folks in the Magnusquerade Discord for helping me find the shape of this scene.


	16. Continuing Education (Manuela and Julia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before or early in the series timeline

Manuela stayed wrapped in shadows as she followed the hunter across the campus. She materialized outside the physics laboratory, pinning Julia Montauk against the wall. “Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s dangerous to walk alone at night?”

Julia let out an angry hiss. “This the part where I remind you of what your clan did to them?”

“If you understood anything about the glorious darkness that we serve, you’d _thank_ us for making them a part of it,” Manuela insisted. Perhaps, after he was reborn and his wife was killed, Robert had foolishly tried to give their daughter the illusion of a “normal” childhood in the sunlight that he could never share.

Julia’s heart still beat rapidly, but Manuela didn’t think that it beat from fear. “If I convince you that I’m not here to kill anyone,” she said, “will you _help_ me understand?”


	17. Socializing Outside the Office (Jon and Georgie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Season 3 or 4 or beyond

Instead of returning Georgie’s text message, Jon phoned her as soon as he had a spare minute. “I assume that you’re joking.”

“Right, because I’m exactly the sort who’d invite a friend to her birthday party as a _joke_,” Georgie said sarcastically. “Couldn’t be because I actually _want_ you there.”

“Thank you for wanting me, then.”

“Do you actually want to have a conversation about this? Because, if not, a simple ‘World ending, must decline invitation’ text would have been fine.” She paused. “The world isn’t ending, is it?”

“No more imminently than usual.” Jon very deliberately avoided thinking about the “15th Clan???” note pinned to his cork board. “You aren't worried that I’ll treat the other guests as party snacks?”

“Were you planning to?” Georgie asked sharply.

“Of course not. I simply don’t think I’d be very good company. My aptitude for small talk hasn’t improved since Oxford, and I primarily tend to socialize with other…” _Creatures who don’t get any older_. “Others of my kind, by obligation.”

“Most of my friends are at least a little bit interested in the weird and spooky,” Georgie pointed out. “So you’d have that in common. And I think a few of them would be keen on the whole vampire-”

“I am _not_ going to tell them,” Jon interrupted. “And neither are you.”

“Or else, what?” she challenged. “You’ll wipe their memories?”

Of _course_ Melanie would have long since told her. “That is always a last resort.”

Georgie made a suspicious noise, but her next words were gentle. “I don’t plan to tell them. And I won’t force you into any situation you really hate. I still think that sometimes you need a reminder that you’re sharing this world with human beings, and we’re more than just blood bags or trauma stories.” A loud meow rose in the background, and Georgie cooed, “But cats are superior to all other life forms, yes sir, they are.” To Jon, she said, “If you’re miserable, I’ll make some excuse and you can sneak away. But I hope you’ll think about it.”

Jon surprised even himself by promising that he would.


	18. Communications and Monitoring (Lydia and Michael)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before the series timeline

Lydia no longer hoped for sleep. Nothing – not pills, not breathing exercises, not white noise in her earbuds – seemed to hold back her nightmares of shifting corridors and grasping hands and doors that she shouldn’t, _mustn’t_, open. 

The first few nights, when the dreams had _only_ unsettled her instead of waking her up in a teeth-clenching, sweat-stinking terror, every pulse point in her body throbbing and her feet aching like she’d walked halfway across the city… on those nights, she’d used the extra waking hours to write. Now, she wasn’t even sure if she could string together a coherent sentence on paper.

Instead, she curled on the sofa, opened up Netflix on her laptop, and clicked at random on a costume drama whose title she forgot after the first few minutes. Maybe she should have fought it when her eyes started to close, but it had been so long since she’d gotten more than an hour’s rest…

When she sat up again, another film had started playing. She recognized _Interview with the Vampire_ from a Halloween party she’d attended last year (or thought she had), but it wasn’t one that she would have chosen. 

She was just about to close the screen when Lestat turned to the camera and winked at her.

“Hello, Lydia.” He changed as he spoke, Tom Cruise’s artificial blond curls growing longer and fuller, the limbs lengthening, the features sharpening around a too-wide smile. “What did the Magnus Institute have to say?”

She could only tell him the truth: “They can’t help me.”

“We don’t need their sort of _help_,” spat the figure on the screen. “All you’ve done is alerted them to…" He trailed off. "Then again, perhaps it’s my fault for giving my thralls too much slack, letting you roam about on your own.” His smile widened, and Lydia wanted to leap off the couch and run, only she knew that all of the doors in her flat would lead only where this creature wanted them to go. “Hopefully, you can still be trained.” His fingers grew even longer, the nails sharpening, as they reached _through_ the picture and toward her.

Lydia scrambled awake, slammed her laptop shut without even looking at what it showed. Her heart was hammering; she could feel it in her throat, and every beat _yearned_. She _wanted_ those hands to wrap around her waist and tangle in her hair and pull back her head to…

She had no idea where she’d seen him before, but she knew that she was _his_.

Every shadow in her flat suddenly felt like a doorway, the air was close and too-warm as a rainforest, and Lydia was no longer sure that she had been dreaming before, or that she wasn’t dreaming right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my Discord buddy Playfully Evil for the title. <3


	19. Professional Distance (Melanie and Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: mid-Season-3

The first time that Jon fed on her, Melanie was wrung out from crying, and too lost in the emotional whirl of their new bond, to care about what he was doing or how.

This time, when he took a step toward her, eyes fixed upon her throat, she dug her nails into her palms and tried to push back against the undertow of _relax provide submit_. “Wait.” She could feel Jon try to rein in his instincts as she held out her arm, displaying the veins in her wrist. “Can we do it this way?”

“There’s a greater risk of injury to that area,” Jon informed her, his voice carrying the faintest echo of the insufferable academic who’d first interviewed her last year. “Elias told me…”

“Do I look like I give a fuck what Elias has to say?” Melanie snarled. Even now, she could feel his smile against her neck, letting her know that she’d satisfied him, that she’d been so very good… _no_. She didn’t need to think about that. She belonged to Jon now, and he only wanted to help her, so why was she arguing with him? “Stop it,” she muttered, either to him or to herself. How many of those thoughts had he Seen? She should probably assume that the answer was, _all of them, all the time._

“I don’t much like the idea,” Jon was saying, as calmly as he could. “But we can try.” He took her wrist in one hand, cool fingers gently pressing and prodding at vein and bone. “I’ve bitten my own, so from this angle, if I just… _here_.”

The pain made her hiss for one intense moment before his creepy monster spit softened it, and then the whole _world_ went soft for a while. Every muscle in her body and most of her mind had felt coiled to spring for too long, and they all unwound at once, now that she was where she belonged.

When Melanie started to come back to herself, Jon was still holding her hand, and she had to make herself pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feel when you _could_ write about any of the potentially fascinating characters and scenarios in an AU, or you could revisit the relationship that drew you there in the first place.
> 
> Thanks to Turbulent_Muse for inspiring me with the detail about wrist biting in her fic [Job Training](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22546048).


	20. Outside Connections (Agnes and Evan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before the series timeline

Agnes arrived at the Canyon Café later than usual. It had taken most of the afternoon to stop Arthur and Eugene from tearing each other’s throats out.

The human who regularly took her orders greeted her with a wide smile. “When you didn’t turn up, I started to wonder if it was really Tuesday,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’d like a black coffee with room for milk,” Agnes said, as she’d done every week since long before Jack started working here. She’d never grown to enjoy the taste, and the caffeine did nothing to energize her. But she liked sitting at the table with her mug, watching the students with their textbooks and laptops, the young parents maneuvering their prams, the harried office workers making the most of their lunch hours, everything that filled the café and the street outside with noise and scent and _life_. She sometimes brought a book, and almost always carried her sketchpad, but her surroundings often captured her attention for far longer than the words or images on a page.

No one else in her clan had seen her drawings. Even the ones who never questioned her about anything else would probably wonder why she drew so many pictures of the same woman, at different ages, dressed in the clothing of different eras, but always straight-backed and grim-faced. They would want to know how to make use of her connection with the Archivist of the Magnus Institute, but Agnes could barely understand that connection herself. Putting it into words would be like trying to explain a dream, which was where they knew each other best, if at all.

Occasionally one of more of her own kind would visit the café, especially in these winter months when the sun set early. The one at the corner table was a familiar presence: he appeared to be in his mid-twenties, but she remembered him as a round-faced child tugging at his miniature bow tie, and then a sullen teenager shoving his hands into his pockets, over many years of parties at Moorland House. He’d still been human for most of those affairs. The Lukas bloodline tended to groom their children to be turned once they reached young adulthood, not unlike her own makers had done.

Several years after that, as she linked arms with Jude and smiled prettily at their hosts, Agnes heard the gossip about his rebellion and flight from the ancestral home. _Let him play at living among mortal creatures_, his family had agreed. _He can’t run from his true nature. His destiny will catch up with him, sooner or later._

The closer the Desolation grew to their ritual, which would harness the power of the daylight to ascend above all the other clans, the more Agnes understood that pronouncement. She had known her own destiny from the beginning.

Evan Lukas stood up as an unmistakably human woman approached his table. She kissed his cold cheek and leaned against his still chest without hesitation, and although she could have been charmed or even enthralled into oblivious agreeability, her expression and voice, not to mention her scent, suggested otherwise. Did she truly know and accept him for what he was?

Agnes found herself wishing them luck. As Jack caught her gaze from behind the counter and winked at her, she wondered if the woman in her drawings would wish her the same. Probably not.


	21. Verification and Security Processes (Tim and Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Late Season 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write about Jon trying to be Softe with Tim, like he was with his other thralls, and my wonderful collaborators suggested ways to... well, to get as close as possible, given where these characters are at.
> 
> CW for brief suicidal ideation, though nothing worse than what we get from Tim in canon.

Tim was floating.

For once, instead of clawing his way back to full consciousness and staggering out of the office with a grimace, he let his mind drift through blissful warmth, only distantly aware of Jon withdrawing his fangs, pressing a moistened thumb to the mark they’d left on Tim’s neck, nudging him into a chair and telling him, “You can go back to work whenever you’re ready.”

_Back to work. Back to the same office as the others, back to staring at each of them too long and then looking away because I can’t be sure whether…_ And it was as if Tim had been floating through warm water that suddenly turned to ice. He might have gasped as his eyes flew open.

Jon looked up from his notes. “Is something wrong?” Tim glared at him. “Besides the obvious, that is.”

“What, you weren’t reading my mind since I walked in here?” Tim demanded, but he could barely summon a fraction of his usual sarcastic heat. Last night’s dreams had been especially bad (Danny’s skin peeling from his face as he snarled that Tim was a traitor, monster-bait, _that’s why you didn’t save me…_), and these last few minutes still felt like the most rest he’d gotten all week.

“Since you’ve made it clear that I would be unwelcome, I’ve made every effort _not_ to,” Jon informed him. “However, if you’d prefer…”

Tim felt a gentle, inquisitive whisper of contact inside his skull, and instead of melting into it or trying (and failing) to swat it away, he blurted, “Would you know if one of us had been replaced?”

Jon’s eyes flashed red. “Do you suspect someone?”

“Not like you’re probably thinking,” Tim admitted. “But...” Fuck, he hated knowing how good it would feel to open his mouth and let all his fears spill forth. “I didn’t suspect the one that got Sasha, did I?”

“None of us did,” Jon agreed, “except for Elias. Our abilities give us something of an advantage in that regard, and I would certainly know if an imposter decided to mimic one of my… the three of you,” he corrected himself hastily. “I have a less instinctive sense of – for instance – Basira’s or Daisy’s minds, but I don’t believe that the Strangers’ illusions overwrite the truth so completely that it would be beyond my Sight. Does that put you at ease?”

“I’ll be at ease when I’m…” Tim stopped just short of saying, _when I’m dead_, even if it didn’t matter whether he said _those_ words aloud. He wasn’t planning to act on them – not yet – unless he could be sure that every bloodsucking clown in London would go down with him. “That’s all I need, isn’t it? Another fucking reminder that I have to _trust_ you.”

“I remain convinced that there are worse fates,” Jon remarked.

Tim almost argued, out of pure spite, even though many worse fates filled their statements and followed him through his nightmares. But he did breathe a little more easily, after all, as he stood and turned toward the door.


	22. Group Dynamics (Barbara and Gerry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before the series timeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for illness and sensory Corruption trauma, albeit less explicit than most of canon.

The man with the piercings and badly dyed black hair attended most meetings, but rarely said a word. The gossip suggested that he’d been raised by a punishingly strict Christian family, and had chosen his look as a full-body middle finger to his parents. When he overheard Kathy whisper that rumor, he’d barked out a humorless laugh and shaken his head.

Today was Barbara’s turn to speak, and when she told the story of her recruitment, she received a few earnest nods and grim laughs from around the room. Under different circumstances, she’d congratulate herself for still being able to work a crowd.

The more she told them about life at the Divine Chain compound in Arkansas, though, the more eyes shifted toward the floor or the corners of the room. Anywhere but in her direction. When she described the insects that had chased away outsiders, and the diseases that had culled the less devout neither quickly nor painlessly, she was interrupted without warning.

“You’re saying that Vilakazi… what, he _summoned_ those pests?” Ross demanded. As usual, he was showing off his muscles in what had to have been the tightest shirt he could find.

Barbara nodded. “Exactly.”

“You sure it wasn’t some sort of hallucination? Our leader convinced me that my mates were growing extra limbs, but that doesn’t mean it really happened.”

Judith Lukas, the group leader, held up one hand. “_Ross_,” she cut in, firmly but not unkindly. “We’re not here to invalidate each other’s experiences.”

“We’re also not supposed to feed each other’s false narratives,” someone else pointed out.

“Was I hallucinating when he _fed_ on us?” Barbara heard herself asking. The word had tugged something open inside her. “Or when he made us drink his…” She caught herself. Even her therapist hadn’t believed that bit, no matter how many professionally calming platitudes he’d piled onto his skepticism. But she _remembered_ touching her lips to Claude’s wrist; remembered the bright taste of blood, and the warmth that had flowed into her, filling her with love and acceptance and belonging. Even now, most of her memories still made her skin itch and creep, had made her scratch at imaginary bites for the first year or so, but she sometimes felt a flash of _need_ – like a fever than nothing else could cool – that almost broke her down in tears.

“Let’s all take a moment to be quiet,” Judith was saying, “and ground ourselves in the present moment.”

“I can’t do this today,” Barbara gasped, nearly knocking over her chair as she stood. “Sorry.” She didn’t look back once on her way out the door and into the street. Spent a minute or so inhaling and exhaling, as deeply and evenly as she could (at least those long-ago meditation classes, indoctrination tool or not, had been useful in the long term) until she no longer felt like sobbing at the knowledge that her (_master’s_) leader’s blood would never touch her lips again.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and then a quiet male voice said, “I believe you.”

Barbara opened her eyes. She should have been more surprised to see that the quiet man with the piercings had followed her outside. She dug around her memories of past meetings until she came up with his name. “Thank you, Gerald, but I think you’re outvoted in there.”

“It’s Gerard,” he corrected her. “Or Gerry, if you like. And the others… it’s not their fault. I don’t think most of them ever got close enough to the supernatural, or escaped with their memories in place like you did.”

“I don’t even know how well I can trust mine,” Barbara admitted. “Part of me wants to blame them on drugs or mass hypnosis or both.” After pointing the American authorities toward the Divine Chain, she’d spent most of the investigation in hospital with what the doctors told her at first were withdrawal symptoms, even though they never found any drugs in her system. “Cults can do plenty of damage even if they’re not led by…” She hoped that her laugh sounded convincing. “Vampires.”

Gerry acknowledged the word with barely a nod. “Yeah, well, a lot of people want to accept the most logical explanation,” he said. “Until some of them decide they _can’t_.”

“Which is how we end up visiting that Magnus place.” About ten years back, one of Barbara’s colleagues had done a stand-up routine about the Magnus Institute. When she decided to give them her own statement, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the voices he’d affected for the succubus and the easily flustered researcher, until she put pen to paper and fell into her memories. “I don’t think they understood much more than I did.”

Was it her imagination, or had Gerry’s gaze sharpened? “Whatever it’s worth,” he said at last, “I’m glad you’re looking for answers in more than one place. And that you _want_ to trust yourself.” He fiddled with one of his spiked cuffs. “I saw you on the telly a few times, you know that? It was a long time ago, but… I don’t think my dad ever realized I could laugh that hard.” For the first time since he took his seat at a meeting, he flashed a smile.

Barbara smiled back, and that feverish thirst had faded, for now.


	23. Transitional Measures (Basira and Tim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: between Seasons 3 and 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [OnnaStik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnnaStik/pseuds/OnnaStik), based upon a prompt from [this list](https://forest-of-stories.tumblr.com/post/613159361987166208/newly-turned-sentence-starters).

Tim growled as Basira stepped forward. She managed not to flinch as she told him, “Elias should be back soon with something for you to eat.” Or some_one_, more accurately: an unsuspecting passerby that he’d hold in place while Tim drank, and then send on their way in a blank-eyed, forgetful trance. _Like he did to us_, she thought, and reminded herself that this was better than the alternative.

“Bet he loves seeing me here.” Tim rattled the chains that bound him to the wall, even as his eyes gleamed red at the prospect of fresh blood. This was the most coherent that he’d been over the last few days. “Fuck him, fuck both of you, fuck all of this.”

“I don’t think any of us are happy with how things turned out.” That was an understatement. “But if we let you go now, more people will get hurt. When we think you’re ready–”

“What if I don’t play by the rules?” Tim snarled. “Then you’ll have to kill me. Yeah?”

“Maybe I should,” Basira agreed. “But I hope I don’t have to.”

“’Cause your _master_ doesn’t want to throw me away yet?”

“Because you deserve the same chance as…” Mentioning Jon’s name wouldn’t do anything to calm Tim’s rage, and Basira still couldn’t think about Daisy for too long without wanting to fall apart. “You deserve to be in control of yourself, and then to decide what happens next.” At least_ somebody _around here should have that chance.


	24. Community Involvement (Simon and Mike)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before or early in the series timeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [TwoDrunkenCelestials](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoDrunkenCelestials/pseuds/TwoDrunkenCelestials), based upon a prompt from [this list](https://forest-of-stories.tumblr.com/post/613159361987166208/newly-turned-sentence-starters).

Simon reached out and adjusted Mike’s tie. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“I wasn’t much concerned with parties when I was alive,” Mike told him. “I don’t want to–”

“To embarrass me?” Simon clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d say, after five centuries, very little does. Don’t forget, now: be polite to the Flesh no matter how odd you think they look this season, come find me immediately if Karolina takes off her gloves, and if any of the guests bring thralls along…”

“…Don’t drink without permission.” Mike managed a tentative smile. “I remember.”

“Everyone will _adore_ you.” Simon took Mike’s arm and lifted them both a few feet off the ground. “I don’t know about you, but I am absolutely _starving_. Shall we go and make an entrance?”


	25. Downtime (Jon and Martin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Season 3 or 4

After Jon was done feeding, he curled against Martin on the couch, and Martin – still floating in a pleasant, dreamlike haze induced by blood loss and venom and the closeness of Jon’s body and mind – was content to wrap around him like a blanket. It had long since become his favorite way to fall asleep.

It was Jon’s favorite way to relax, too, even if he rarely slept anymore. If someone had told him, when he first started working in the Archives, that he’d end up here – an undead monster snuggled into Martin Blackwood’s soft, broad arms – well, he wasn’t sure which part would surprise him more.

Relaxation, as was so often the case, was short-lived. When Martin’s face went tense with fear, his eyes rolling beneath their closed lids, Jon braced himself for flashes of his dreams.

Those dreams carried Martin through the Institute’s tunnels, further and further from light and certainty, as he ran from the thing that _used_ to be Jon but was now a creature of blazing eyes and mercilessly sharp teeth. It had already killed people that night and it would pounce on Martin and tear into his throat and drain him of his blood, and it was only a few steps behind him…

Horrified, Jon wasn’t sure whether to nudge Martin awake – no matter how much he needed to rest right now – or to slip into the dreamscape, dissolve the monster like smoke, and lead Martin away from the danger. It was nothing Jon hadn’t done before, and these days Martin leaned into his mental touch more readily than ever, knowing instinctively that his master would protect him from all fear and uncertainty…

Jon drew back a little, though he didn’t let go of Martin’s hand. Whispered platitudes like, “Shh, it’ll be over soon,” were unlikely to make a profound difference, but at least they were safer. He didn’t want (or at least knew that he _shouldn't_ want) to erode Martin’s sense of self any more than he already had.

If nothing else, he would still be there when Martin opened his eyes, ready to ground him in what was present and real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to NevillesGran for, among many other things, giving me the idea for how Jon might respond to this particular temptation.


	26. Review of Business Practices (Adelard, Gerry, and Gertrude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Before the series timeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning** for mentions of widespread illness, and also intentionally vague science.
> 
> **Update September 2020:** When I wrote this addition to the Magnusquerade, I wasn't thinking about the appallingly racist nature of the Haan family's role in TMA canon. I'm leaving my piece as is, partly because I don't think it's helpful to try and cover these things up (and obviously the original text remains the same no matter what fanworks do with it), but I acknowledge that white fan creators like myself can sometimes perpetuate stereotypes whether or not they are actually at the forefront of our minds or part of the central themes of our work. That was most definitely the case here.

Adelard kept a firm grip on the head of his cane as he removed the mobile phone from his pocket. If his suspicions were correct, the abandoned takeaway attracted a particularly single-minded variety of trespasser, one that might not flinch at anything short of a blade inches from the face.

He selected the first number on his brief list of contacts and waited.

“You’ve reached the Magnus Archives,” intoned a male voice on the other end of the line. “We’ve got a file for your worst nightmares.”

Adelard sighed. “Gerard, I have witnessed horrors beyond human understanding, and even I have a hard time believing that Gertrude lets you answer her telephone in that manner.”

He could practically hear the smirk in Gerard’s voice. “I think she’s just grateful I dropped, ‘The monsters exsanguinate; we investigate.’”

Instead of commenting upon _that_, Adelard asked, “May I speak with her, please?”

“She’s meeting with the big boss upstairs. I’ll tell her you rang.” Gerard chuckled. “Anything need to be burnt? She’s usually ready to light something on fire after dealing with him.” Distantly, Adelard heard the door to the Archives open, then Gertrude’s brusque voice. “Yeah, it is,” Gerard replied. Did he even realize that his voice changed when she was nearby? “He didn’t say what… do you want to talk to him? Right.”

Rustling, the scrape of a chair, and then Gertrude asked, “Adelard, what have you found for me?”

“The Waltham Express Grill has been closed ever since its owner came under investigation for food tampering.” Adelard scanned the grounds again. “If the authorities received any conclusive results as to how John Haan was lacing the food, or with what, they haven’t shared them.” Which was unsurprising, considering how a vampire’s blood tended to behave in a laboratory setting. “However, known customers during the years in question displayed behaviors consistent with vampiric enthrallment. I can also confirm at least three separate break-ins since the establishment closed its doors, though it’s likely that there have been others.”

“If his former customers are still hoping to satisfy their mysterious cravings, I don’t doubt it,” Gertrude replied. “I’ll rely upon you to make sure that Mr. Haan does not get the chance to resume his previous line of work.” She turned away from the receiver for a moment. “Can we ‘help’ whom, Gerard?”

Faintly, in the background: “Haan’s thralls. Or whatever they were.”

“And what would you suggest?” Gertrude inquired coolly. “That we establish a rehabilitation clinic here at the Institute? Do go ahead and propose such a plan to Elias; I’d be very interested to hear what he says.” Silence on the line, then the sound of retreating footsteps. “I suppose that are some fancies that even Mary Keay couldn’t bleed away from her nearest and dearest,” Gertrude told Adelard. “I trust that you’ll keep me informed.”

“Of course,” Adelard assured her, wondering if she would be so dismissive of her assistant’s concern if she were to witness a widespread blood withdrawal in Walthamstow, and knowing, on some level, that he didn’t need to wonder at all.


	27. Reintegration Concerns (Melanie and Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: early Season 4

Melanie felt Jon’s presence before she saw him. As soon as he opened the door to the Archives, she grabbed the "Don’t Cross The Streams" mug from her desk and hurled it as hard as she could in his direction.

Vampire reflexes meant he could dodge it easily, and the _patience_ in his voice made her clench her teeth so hard that they hurt: “Melanie, let’s just–”

“You think you can just walk back in here and pick up our leashes again?” she snarled. “Make everything okay? Daisy’s dead, and Tim’s a _monster_…. you _knew_ he’d rather die, and you _still_ turned him into…”

“_Stop it_.”

The command knocked the wind from her lungs, and it was a full minute – at least – before she could summon even enough energy to glare at him. “Oh, you fucking did _not_.”

“I don’t know if I made the right choice in changing Tim,” Jon continued. “But at least he’s not a thrall anymore, right? He’s not bound to the Institute. If there’s another way to free you and Martin…”

Instead of finding something else to throw or (better yet) aim to stab, Melanie pressed her hands over her ears. While Jon was unconscious, even if she still needed his blood, she could almost pretend that she belonged to herself again. Now his words and his will caressed the edges of her mind and whispered in her veins (_be calm, relax, let your master take care of everything_), but the voice of her rage was louder and so much sweeter.

She closed her eyes and let its song surround her. When she opened them, she was alone again.


	28. Reinforcing Effective Partnerships (Jonathan and Jonah)

Excerpt of a letter from Jonathan Fanshawe to Robert Smirke, thought to have been written in late 1831 or early 1832:

_…Upon reflection, I must admit that I had become uneasy with Jonah’s methods, to say nothing of his increasingly self-indulgent cruelty, well before my cursed errand to the von Closen estate. Robert, I do not think I need to remind you of how persuasive our old friend can be… but perhaps I am only making excuses for myself, as my scientific curiosity and lingering affection for him rendered me all too vulnerable to persuasion._

_I trust that you will understand why my hands were shaking, even more than they do shake now, as I took up my pen to compose what I fervently hoped would be my final letter to Jonah. I slept little in the days after I posted it, but as those days became weeks, I dared to believe that he would accept my resolution to end our association._

_That belief held until two nights ago, when he appeared unannounced in my study._

_I did not need to ask how he had entered my house; as you have observed, his kind, once invited, can return freely. Before I could blink, he was standing beside my chair, and had closed one cold, strong hand upon my shoulder. I spoke as steadily as I could: “I told you to keep your distance.”_

_That seemed to amuse him, for he replied, “My dear Jonathan, why would you think that to be your decision?” _

_I reiterated that I could not, in good conscience, continue our work, after observing its ultimate effects upon poor Albrecht. Jonah’s eyes flared crimson and his smile widened, displaying his fangs. “You speak of conscience," he said, "as if yours is loftier than mine. Allow me to remind you of otherwise.”_

_I know that you have felt the caress of his mind, but I wonder if you have experienced those invisible iron claws ripping through your thoughts and memories, forcing in horrors from without and pulling others to the surface from within. I was beset by the contents of the graves that we had plundered together, the wretched victims upon whom he fed as I watched, the specimens of unnatural illness, the walking abominations of twisted flesh, the multitude of eyes that had opened within Albrecht’s corpse, and other images and sensations too numerous to recount. When I recovered my senses, I was curled upon the floor beside my desk, my throat raw from screams and pleas for Jonah to take away the memories._

_“I could do so,” he agreed calmly. “I could also strip away your memories of your childhood and family, your medical training, your every sense of who you are. I would rather not damage your extraordinary mind, of course, so I trust that you will take this warning to heart.” I felt a much gentler brush against my consciousness, and may I be forgiven for yearning, on some level, for more. “I will call again when next I need you, and I trust that you will be more agreeable.”_

_I did not rise to my feet until well after he had gone._

_I hope that you will pardon such an extensive recollection, Robert, but since you have confided to me your concerns about Jonah Magnus, I felt that I must warn you in turn. He does not take kindly to those who try to sever ties with him. I do not know what fate will befall me; I only hope that this letter will reach you in time for you to avoid a worse one. Burn it after you read it, and shield your thoughts well. Your arcane skill may offer you some protection, and I urge you to act decisively, but not rashly._

_Good luck, my friend. I will pray for your safety and fortitude._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anysin, alliedwolves, and everyone else on Discord who encouraged and helped with this piece!


	29. Delegated Recruitment Tactics (Sasha and Tim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Near the beginning of the series timeline (a missing scene from [Internal and External Recruitment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854796)).

Sasha found Tim in his usual corner of the library, his head bent over a compilation of nineteenth-century letters. As she leaned over his shoulder, she felt a similar pang of unease that used to strike during acquisitions in Artifact Storage. If she backed away now, maybe she wouldn’t have to… 

Tim looked up with a start, cursing under his breath. “Thanks for not shouting ‘boo!’ in my ear,” he said as soon as she’d apologized.

“Do I look like it’s my first week at the Institute? There are much better ways to terrorize my colleagues.”

“Consider me warned.” Tim tapped the page in front of him. “I wonder if these two upstanding gentlemen were already shagging, or just really, really wanted to.” In a deeper, more bombastic voice, he read aloud, “‘My dearest Robert, although I have drawn incalculable pleasure from the intimacies that we’ve shared…’” At the other end of the table, Jon looked up and scowled at them. Tim responded with his customary finger-guns.

“Let’s save the dramatic readings for the next staff talent show.” Sasha hadn’t realized that she was clenching her teeth against the words until they flew from her mouth: “Elias wants to see you.”

Tim arched an eyebrow. “To tell me that I’m doing a smashing job, I take it?”

Sasha rubbed at her neck. “He didn’t say what he wanted.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Jon was still frowning in their direction; she should probably get used to fielding those _looks_ if he was going to be her boss from now on. Elias had _chosen_ them for the Archives; they had a _purpose_ there, and she couldn’t even bring herself to be frustrated that he hadn’t put her, the more experienced researcher, in charge. Maybe the disappointment would hit her later.

“Well, if I don’t come back, I know the mystery of my disappearance is in capable hands,” Tim declared, shutting the book. He favored her with a grinning salute as he pushed aside his chair.

“I won’t let you down,” Sasha assured him, as her throat constricted as if to remind her that, in some way that she couldn’t understand, she already had.


	30. Mutually Understood Arrangements (Barnabas and Jonah)

Barnabas’s heartbeat sped up as Jonah slid two fingers under his chin and tilted it upward.

When the other guests had departed at the end of the evening, Jonah had asked him to stay. Barnabas could see the jealousy upon some of their faces, but had barely let himself hope. He hadn’t dared to meet their host’s eyes, for fear that Jonah had seen the possibilities unfurling within his mind, and found them laughable. He could only follow Jonah silently down the corridor, to the settee where they now sat side by side.

In this moment, there was no way that Barnabas could have averted his gaze, even if he wanted to. As always, he had promised himself that he would not beg, but desperation wound through his thoughts and escaped his lips in a whimper when he saw fangs flash in Jonah’s smile.

“Such a beautiful sound,” Jonah murmured.  _ His _ beauty, Barnabas sometimes thought (when they were apart, and he could think coherently), was like a natural wonder that both signaled and masked profound danger: the pattern of scales on a venomous serpent; the twisting of a flame. “Braver men than you have emitted such mewling cries as they struggled in my grasp.”

“I shan’t…” Barnabas began.

“Of course not.” Red fire twisted in Jonah’s eyes. “You will  _ be still for me _ .”

As Barnabas anticipated, delicious heaviness seeped into his limbs, and he let out a sigh of pleasure. Jonah held him upright, his fingers slowly unfastening and untying until Barnabas’s throat was exposed. As his mind filled with  _ please, please, please _ , Jonah smiled against his neck, and he understood how little it had mattered whether or not he pleaded aloud. Even that single syllable faded into wordless yearning as he felt the brush of lips against his pulse, and the shape of fangs beneath. They pierced his skin just as the wait became more agonizing than intoxicating, and the stab of pain drowned in the river of bliss that followed.

Barnabas neither noticed nor cared how much time passed, and he next knew his own body and surroundings when a final kiss closed the bite. Jonah’s next words -- “I shall release you soon” -- could have been a promise or a warning, and Barnabas thought that he might have made a noise of protest, for Jonah continued: “Would you like to stay with me forever, then? Taste my blood and become truly mine?”

Barnabas believed, in that moment, that he belonged to Jonah in every imaginable sense. If there was another way that he could be tied to this extraordinary creature, he only had the faintest idea of what that might be.

It would not be at Jonah’s hands, in the grip of Jonah’s teeth and arms and mind, that Barnabas found out more.


	31. On-Call Availability (Melanie and Georgie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: early Season 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for hints of self-harm.

Melanie launched herself out of bed, her mind still hazy from sleep even as the veins in her neck throbbed with a need deeper than thought: _ Your master is hungry, go to him, feed him, serve your purpose... _

She had one hand on the doorknob before another voice interrupted from the bed behind her: “Melanie?” Georgie called sleepily. “Where’re you going, love?”

Melanie’s vision cleared enough for her to realize that she was barefoot, and not dressed to leave the flat by any stretch of the imagination. “Nowhere. I mean…” She clenched her fists until the smell of her own blood grew stronger than the pull of Jon’s thirst. There weren’t too many other sensations stronger than the compulsion to be a _good thrall._ “I’ll be right back.”

As she washed off the blood, she wondered how much she’d have to shed the next time.


	32. Customer-Focused Interactions (Oliver and Evan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: before Season 1

The sign over the door read  _ Good Energies Spiritual Supplies (Open By Appointment Only). _ Since Jane disappeared and Oliver took over management of the shop, many of those appointments had been at night.

His current customer had only died within the past few years, and even if his surname hadn’t given away his origins, it was obvious that he’d painfully sheltered for most of his human life. “I’m looking for something that can guard against compulsion,” he explained. “There should be some sort of amulet, or maybe a combination of herbs…?”

“There should be,” Oliver agreed, “but there aren’t -- at least, not on our shelves. I’m sorry, Mr. Lukas.” He beckoned the customer toward the bookshelves. “You can learn exercises that would help you to strengthen your shields, and there are gemstone variants that can help with mental fortitude. Do either of those options interest you?” 

“Yeah, maybe, but…” Vampires didn’t usually blush, but Evan Lukas looked sheepish. “They’re not for me.”

The more they talked, the more Oliver had to resist the temptation to share everything he wished he’d known when he met Graham. Evan might not have had psychic premonitions of his human sweetheart’s untimely death, but he was probably haunted by its specter, one way or another.


End file.
